


you're so lucky that i'm around

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Meet-Cute, bellamy and clarke don't know how to DTR, raven and miller are my snark babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is in what one might politely call a romantic slump. </p><p>Even so, he doesn't think he's so far gone that he wouldn't be able to come up with any response beyond just standing and gaping soundlessly when a beautiful, blue-eyed blonde suddenly appears in front of him, looking very breathless and ever so slightly windswept as she politely but firmly informs him that she needs him to kiss her, <i>right now</i>. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the one where Clarke pulls the "quick kiss me" card to get out of awkward interactions with an ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're so lucky that i'm around

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT ANY OF THE WIPs I'VE BEEN WORKING ON OVER THE LAST SEVEN DAYS WHAT AM I DOING WHY DID I WRITE THIS.
> 
> but here you go. i hope you enjoy this because it would really make me feel better for my clearly out of whack system for priority management.
> 
>  
> 
> (title from 'Let My Love Open the Door' by Sondre Lerche)

 

 

 

 

Bellamy Blake is in what one might politely call a romantic slump.

 

His sister would call it a chance to reevaluate his priorities. His friend Raven Reyes would call it the next stage in his devolution into full-fledged crusty geriatric. His other friend Nathan Miller would call it _‘uh, s’cool bro, just get over it’_.

 

It’s a minor setback, really. Totally temporary.

 

Even so, he doesn’t think he’s so far gone that he wouldn’t be able to come up with any response beyond just standing and gaping soundlessly when a beautiful, blue-eyed blonde suddenly appears in front of him, looking very breathless and ever so slightly windswept as she politely but firmly informs him that she needs him to kiss her, _right now_.

 

Then again — first time for everything. And all that.

 

He blinks down at her, struggling to fully process her unblinking gaze, the ocean blue plaid button down and paint-stained jeans. “Um, wha—”

 

She throws a furtive glance over her shoulder, muttering a quick curse under her breath. “ _Now_ ,” she repeats clearly, somehow still maintaining a fine balance between cordial and urgent in the short syllable even as she steps into his personal space, reaches up with both hands and pulls his face down to hers.

 

He stumbles into her a little, but quickly regains his balance, winding both arms around her waist to draw her even closer. He’s surprised when she pushes up on her toes to deepen the kiss, her tongue tracing along the seam of his half-opened mouth. Any further attempts at rational thought instantly dissolve into dust at the feeling of her hands sliding into his messy curls to adjust both their heads for a better angle, and _fuck him_ with a capital F, but yeah, that feels fucking great.

 

… Okay, maybe it really has been a while.

 

She pulls away and he chases after the warmth of her lips automatically, but she’s already back on her feet, head turned to the side. It takes a second or two for him to come back to his senses, and he blinks when he realises she’s talking to someone.

 

“… _so_ weird, yeah! Oh, by the way, this is my boyfriend,” she’s saying, one hand squeezing his shoulder with a grip that’s a lot more forceful than he would’ve pegged her to be capable of.

 

He looks up dumbly, and there’s a couple in front of them — a girl with her auburn hair in a pixie cut, holding hands with a guy with floppy dark hair and a bewildered expression.

 

“Hi,” Floppy Dark Hair says, extending a hand towards him. “Finn.”

 

“Bellamy,” he replies on autopilot, removing one hand from the blonde’s waist to grasp the proffered hand.

 

“I’m sorry, where did you guys meet again?” Finn asks, with a smile that doesn’t quite do enough to cover up the suspicion in his eyes. “I’ve never heard Clarke mention a ‘Bellamy’ before.”

 

“Excuse me,” the blonde cuts in — _Clarke_ , he thinks — hand dropping from his shoulder to slide under his arm and around his waist. The motion makes him realise his left arm is still right where he left it, wrapped around her. “But we really have to go, we’re late enough as it is.” She flashes the couple a pleasant smile, but he can feel the stiffness of her back under his hand.

 

He clears his throat and puts on his best grin, the one he usually wears when talking to nervous students. “My fault, as usual,” he says, his arm tightening around Clarke. “Good thing she likes me.”

 

She laughs with him easily, leaning into his side before looking up at their audience. “You guys have a good day, now,” she says, gently nudging Bellamy to sidestep around them. “And for the love of God, don’t you fucking keep in touch,” she mutters under her breath once they’ve passed safely.

 

She waits till they’ve turned the corner to duck out from Bellamy’s arm, and he tries not to look as disappointed as he feels, turning his head to glance behind them to make sure Floppy Dark Hair and his companion are properly gone.

 

“Sorry about that,” she says with a small smile, brushing wavy locks of blonde out of her face. “I didn’t think he would actually try to _talk_ to you. Nosy asshole,” she adds under her breath, with a vehement shake of her head.

 

Bellamy folds his arms across his chest, now very confused, thoroughly intrigued and, okay, _slightly_ turned on. “I am very confused and intrigued,” he announces, watching carefully for her reaction. He decides that there’s no _real_ need to let her know about the third thing.

 

She laughs then, sheepish and amused, before casting around briefly. Her gaze returns to his, her lips pressing together as if in consideration before suddenly parting for a sharp gulp of air. “Okay. You got a minute? There’s a pretty great coffee shop nearby.”

 

They end up in a little hole-in-the-wall café just half a block away, and Clarke orders them a couple cappuccinos, which he’s usually not partial to, but these are particularly enjoyable, light and fluffy and settling warm in his stomach. She tells him all about her year-long relationship with Finn, and the messy breakup once she’d found out about his _fiancée_ , whom he’d already been together with for five years, and the even messier six months that had followed when Finn had basically spent every waking moment trying to win her back with desperate voicemails and numerous texts.

 

“Shit,” he says once she pauses to take a breath and sip at her cappuccino. “And his, er, fiancée — she just got over it and took him back? Just like that?”

 

She frowns, humming suddenly when she realises he’s referring to the redhead. “Oh, no — _God_ no. That’s his _new_ girlfriend.”

 

His nose wrinkles. “Uh.”

 

“It’s okay, you can say it,” Clarke says, grinning at him widely. “He’s a piece of shit.”

 

“I was going to go with self-absorbed jackass,” Bellamy replies, raising a dark brow. “But yeah, that works too.”

 

“No, no,” she says, waving her free hand at him. “Yours is better, way better. Mind if I steal it?”

 

“Go right ahead,” he tells her, his lips curling in a smirk. “Just as long as you don’t make a habit out of kissing random strangers on the street.”

 

At that, she sets her coffee cup down, her smile giving way to a wince. “Yeah,” she starts, drawing out the word with an apologetic half-grin, half-grimace. “About that. I promise I don’t do that on a regular basis. Not that I do it on an irregular basis,” she adds quickly when he lifts both brows in mock incredulity. “Or any basis. It’s just—“ she huffs an exasperated sigh, but something in her expression lets him know she’s more amused than anything. “It’s _basis-less_ , okay? I _don’t_ kiss random strangers.”

 

“You kissed me,” he points out, still smirking. He can’t quite wipe the smugness off his face. The one time she decides it’s a good idea to make out with a stranger, she chooses _him_.

 

She laughs again, shaking her head at him. “What can I say? You looked like the most harmless person available at the time.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” he deadpans, arching a brow at her. “I get that all the time. ‘Hey, Bellamy, lookin’ extra harmless today’.”

 

“Shut up,” she tells him easily, picking up her coffee cup again. “Plus, it didn’t hurt that you’re, you know, kind of hot.”

 

“Don’t get that one as much,” he says, forcing himself to keep his tone light even as his foam-filled stomach backflips in his gut. “But sure, I’ll take it. Anyway,” he adds with a shrug, “there are worse ways to meet new people.”

 

“Exactly,” she agrees readily, lightly clinking her coffee cup to his.

 

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

 

He tells himself not to get his hopes up. Clarke is smart and funny and _hello_ , about nineteen different kinds of gorgeous. They trade contact information _‘in case you ever need another Finn-tervention,_ ’ he says dryly as he’s typing his number into her phone. _‘Or just someone to make out with,’_ she adds cheerfully, handing his phone back to him. _‘Emergencies only, of course.’_

 

Over the next few days, he doesn’t really expect anything to happen. Even so, it doesn’t stop him from feeling just the tiniest bit disappointed every time he collapses into bed at the end of another day with still no message from Clarke.

 

Four days after The Incident, as he’s mentally dubbed it, his phone suddenly buzzes with a text alert and he instantly drops it when he sees it’s from Clarke. (He’s very thankful that he’s safely seated on his very safely cushioned couch.)

 

He opens up the message, and it’s a screenshot of a bunch of texts from Finn, asking her if she wants to _‘catch up sometime’_ and how he misses talking to her and some other shit that sounds clingy as hell. He sees that she hasn’t answered any of the texts, and he feels a lot more satisfied than he has any real right to be.

 

He quickly replies _‘Sorry, not available for emergency make out services now. Tomorrow good for you?’_

 

He immediately regrets not making it absolutely, unmistakably clear that he doesn’t actually expect her to meet up with him just for another round of kissing (although he definitely would not _mind_ it), and spends a full minute Googling ‘how to take back sent texts’.

 

He heaves what feels like the biggest sigh of relief he can remember heaving over the entire year when he sees her reply: _‘hahaha damn. same coffee shop at 4?’_

 

The next day, he arrives about ten minutes early to find her already at a table, bending over an open sketchbook with a pencil in hand. She starts when he looms over the table, but her face breaks out into a bright grin as she springs out of the chair to throw her arms around his shoulders. He barely has any time to respond to the embrace, his hand just brushing against her back before she’s already pulling away, waving at him to sit while she bobs up to the counter to order.

 

She returns with a cappuccino in each hand to find him peering down at the sketchbook, still open at the page she’d been working on. He jumps a little when her shadow falls over the table, already starting to apologise for looking at her shit, but she just rolls her eyes and slides into the seat opposite him before flipping the pages to show him more of her work.

 

He blinks in surprise when she tells him she’s still in college — only a few more months to go before graduation, but it’s slightly astonishing nonetheless. It feels somewhat impossible that all of her can be contained within just twenty-two short years, and she laughs when he tells her so. It’s not the fond laugh he gets from Octavia, or the sarcastic, good-natured ones he gets from Raven or Miller. It’s different coming from her — it’s quiet and confident, and it makes him feel understood in a way that’s completely unnatural in how naturally it settles in his chest.

 

She smiles when he tells her he’s a college TA, working towards his Ph.D. It’s a discerning smile, like she’d already known it before he’d said it.

 

“You seem to like telling people what to do,” she says when he points it out, grinning at him over the rim of her cup before her voice drops several pitches in an imitation of his. “‘Hey, random girl, don’t go round kissing people on the street.’ What gems of scholarly wisdom,” she remarks, smirking as she returns to her normal husky tone.

 

“So says the one who literally grabbed me and bodily forced me to make out with her,” he retorts, doing his best to suppress a wide grin and falling short.

 

She scoffs then, rolling her eyes again. “Yeah, seemed like you were really struggling,” she says, smiling blithely. “Such a grandiose act of noble heroism.”

 

“Sorry, I usually try to stick to garden variety heroics,” he replies dryly.

 

The real struggle is tearing his gaze away when she laughs again, blue eyes crinkling in her good humour. He actually succeeds this time, and wryly reflects on how gold medals have probably been won on lesser efforts.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

They don’t explicitly plan it, but meeting for coffee somehow turns into meeting up several more times for coffee whenever one of them happens to ‘be around’, or ‘have some time to kill', and shoots the other a text.

 

On one occasion, they slip deeper and deeper into conversation and completely lose track of time. It’s dark by the time either of them thinks to look around properly, and his empty stomach is starting to rumble in protest at having been left empty for too long.

 

“I’m fucking _starving_ ,” Clarke comments as they’re packing up their stuff — he’d been pretending to grade essays while she’d been pretending to do PowerPoint slides for an upcoming presentation.

 

“There’s a pretty great Italian place nearby,” he volunteers as he shrugs on his jacket. “If you don’t have any other plans?”

 

“None that would compare to spaghetti and meatballs,” she tells him with a grin, shouldering her worn grey backpack. “Lead the way.”

 

He’s sort of relieved to find that their dynamic isn’t really affected by the change in ambience. The conversation flows just as easily as it does in their sun-warmed coffee shop, even though it’s pasta and beers between them instead of cappuccinos and sketchpads.

 

“My friends and I, we used to go to Mecha, on Second,” she’s telling him in between bites of spaghetti, pausing to tuck her hair behind her ear. “But it’s closing down soon — the owner went bankrupt or something. So now we’re kind of just floating around town. We tried Outpost — on Fifth? — but that place expensive as fuck.” She wrinkles her nose, sticking her fork into her noodles and twirling it deftly.

 

“I go to Dropship sometimes,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of beer. “Corner of Main? It’s not fancy or anything, but the drinks are decent so my friends like it. Plus, they’re one of those old-school bars that still have a jukebox.”

 

“No way,” she half-exclaims, dropping her fork.

 

He looks at her, brows raised in surprise. “What, never seen a jukebox before?”

 

“No, I—” she shakes her head before leaning forward, eyes wide. “You— you have _friends_?”

 

“Okay,” he says when his jaw is working again, eyes narrowing at her shit-eating grin. “Cute. Real cute.”

 

She makes him tell her all about his sister and Raven and Miller and even Lincoln, who he’s been slowly, grudgingly warming to over the last few weeks or so. He makes her tell him all about her roommates, who sound like they have a worrying penchant for blowing things up and accidental arson — but she assures him they’re legitimate geniuses. (He’s not entirely convinced.)

 

Afterwards, they walk together as far as they can go before their paths diverge.

 

“Thanks for dinner,” she says with a grin, stepping closer to wrap her arms around him. He’s quicker on the uptake now, his own arms instantly slipping around her. As usual, she pulls away before he can fully absorb the feel of her. “Have a good night!” she calls half over her shoulder, as her feet are already moving, taking her further away.

 

“You’re welcome,” he says to himself, watching her blonde head disappear down the street.

 

He really, really wants to know if she considers the last few hours to be a date.

 

Because he really, _really_ wouldn’t mind if it was.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

But it’s not, obviously.

 

The more he thinks about it over the next day, the more he realises what a colossal _idiot_ he is.

 

He’d wasted a good proportion of their first proper conversation admonishing her on kissing strangers — _teasingly_ , of course, but _still_.

 

She’d outright called him _hot_ , and instead of letting her know she was a total babe herself, he’d responded with some stupid comment on ‘meeting new people’, which, okay, what the _fuck_.

 

He’d been too fucking scared to text her first, and replied her first message with some stupid crack about emergency make out services.

 

He’d spent the last three weeks having coffee with her and never once successfully paid for hers.

 

He’d finally managed to get her to go to dinner with him, and he’d let her sit through the entire thing and walk away afterward without once mentioning that ‘hey, by the way, I’m super into you and it’d be really great if this could be a proper legit date.’

 

She hugs him hello and goodbye every time they meet, and he’s too stupid to make a fucking move and _just kiss her already_.

 

Well. Kiss her _again_ , that is.

 

On second thought, she’d been the one to kiss him that first time. Which puts him right back at _just kiss her already_.

 

Great. He’s just disproved the extent of his own astronomical loserness to himself.

 

By the time he’s on his third beer, he’s officially depressed enough to start whining about it to his friends.

 

To Raven and Miller’s credit, they listen as attentively and supportively as he can remember them ever being, gazes focused and intent on him as he bemoans his supreme idiocy.

 

“So to sum it all up,” he says, pushing away his empty bottle, “Clarke is perfect and beautiful, and I’m a fucking pathetic loser who’s eventually going to die in the friend zone. ‘Here lies Bellamy, friend for life’.” He picks up his sodden coaster and starts to pick it apart, pouting slightly. “‘For’ spelled like the number, probably. Maximum humiliation.”

 

There’s a brief pause where his friends regard him silently.

 

Raven leans forward. “Can I have her number, then?”

 

He stares at her, wide-eyed and appalled.

 

“What?” she says, cocking a brow. “You said you were friend zoned. I haven’t even met her, _I’m_ not in the friend zone yet.”

 

“Not the point,” he grits out, flicking bits of sodden cardboard across the table at her.

 

“I don’t get it,” Miller says, brushing off stray bits of coaster that had landed on him. “If she’s not interested in you, then why does she let you hang round her?”

 

“Because she’s _nice_ ,” Bellamy tells him dejectedly. “And smart. And funny. And, I don’t know. A good fucking person. Who probably hasn’t ever ended up in anybody’s friend zone.”

 

“Well is the friend zone really such a bad place to be?” Raven says thoughtfully. “You get to hang out whenever you want — no expectations, no pressure.”

 

“And you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Miller adds, nodding. “No obligations when you’re friend zoned.”

 

“That’s debatable,” a voice sounds out above them. All three of them whip their heads round to a smiling blonde standing over their table.

 

“Hi,” she greets, fluttering her fingers at Raven and Miller. “Clarke.”

 

Bellamy suddenly recovers, snapping his jaw shut and blinking rapidly at the bizarrely heartwarming sight of his friends introducing themselves to Clarke, welcoming grins on both their faces as they reach out to shake her hand.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks when his voice returns.

 

She arches a brow at him, still smiling amiably. “You told me to try this place, so—” she spreads one arm out theatrically, “—here I am.”

 

He can barely register the joy bursting in his chest at the fact that _she actually took him up on his suggestion_ when she’s suddenly flanked by two shaggy-haired creatures.

 

“Hello, friends of Clarke,” the taller one announces, large, watery eyes surveying them with eager enthusiasm.

 

“I tried to stop him,” the smaller one tells Clarke, apology lacing his gentle tone.

 

“I believe you,” Clarke responds dryly, turning back to the table to make a quick round of introductions.

 

“Whoa, hold up — _Bellamy_ Bellamy?” Jasper says, leaning over the table to goggle at Bellamy. “ _Finn-tervention_ Bellamy?”

 

Clarke’s hand is suddenly on the lanky boy’s shoulder, pulling him back firmly. “Personal space, Jasper, remember?” She casts him a rueful glance. “Sorry, he was very excited when he heard the story.” She smiles wryly at Jasper, still ogling Bellamy. “We’ll leave you to it, then.”

 

“No, it’s okay—” Bellamy swallows nervously, glancing over at his friends who are watching the proceedings with unveiled interest and being all around very unhelpful people. “Hey, uh — you guys want to join us or something?”

 

And that’s how he ends up in a booth with Clarke at his side, his friends opposite and Clarke’s chatty roommates filling out the rest of the table on her other side. There’s a lot of questioning about The Incident, but it leads to a lot of guffawing from her friends and snarky commentary from his. By the time they finish their first round of drinks, Jasper and Monty have already moved on to dissecting Raven and Miller, plaguing them with eager questions about their work and their history with Bellamy and their opinions on excessively sour candy.

 

The entire time, Clarke is there and next to him and smiling and laughing and making everyone else laugh and shaking her head at her friends and letting him put his arm over the back of her seat and _there_ , and yeah, call him a loser, but it’s the absolute best time he’s ever had in Dropship, _ever_.

 

He’s at the bar waiting for their next round of orders, trying not to smile _too_ widely to himself when he suddenly feels someone at his elbow.

 

“Do you ever stop with the noble heroics?” she asks, tapping on the empty tray in front of him that’s waiting to be filled up with a fresh round of drinks.

 

“Usually the third Sunday of the month,” he answers, moving slightly to make room at the counter for her. “And some bank holidays.”

 

“Good to know,” she says, her lips quirking upward as she presses in closer, one hand on his arm so they can hear each other better over the raucous group of men two seats down. “Hey, seriously though — thanks for letting us crash your table. You didn’t have to.”

 

“That’s alright,” he tells her, smiling warmly. He glances back over to their table, where the four remaining occupants are already playing some kind of weird, elaborate game involving half-soaked napkins and beer nuts. “Looks like everyone’s night just got way more fun, anyway.”

 

“Yeah, but feel free to kick us out anytime you feel like having your table back to yourself,” she says, nudging him with a teasing elbow. “No obligations.”

 

His gaze snaps back to her, but all he can make out in her bright blue eyes is warm amusement.

 

“Yeah,” he manages to say, trying to keep his good mood from sinking into a pit of quicksand disappointment. “No — don’t worry about it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah, uh, no,” Raven says once Clarke and her roommates are safely bundled into a cab. “You are most definitely nowhere _near_ the friend zone.”

 

He whips his head round to stare at her, jaw dropping open. “What?”

 

Beside her, Miller is shaking his head in sympathetic assent. “Oh, yeah, no. That is _not_ friendship, whatever the fuck that is.”

 

He gapes at the two of them, blinking in incredulity. “How—”

 

“Dude, it’s all over you both,” Raven says, nose scrunching in exasperation. “Y’all can’t even go five seconds without being all up in each other’s space. I’m surprised you didn’t get up to follow her into the bathroom.”

 

“Plus she’s always laughing at your stupid jokes,” Miller adds.

 

“My jokes are awesome,” he retorts immediately.

 

“Your jokes are _terrible_ ,” Raven informs him, enunciating each syllable with exaggerated clarity. She sighs suddenly, shaking her head so her ponytail sways violently. “Look, believe us or don’t, it’s really up to you. I’m just saying — we’re right, and you’re wrong.”

 

Miller’s shaking his head too, slowly and pityingly. “Literally the only way you could possibly be _more_ wrong is if you were the latest _Fantastic Four_ reboot.”

 

“Just, _so_ wrong,” Raven murmurs, nodding in agreement.

 

He doesn’t really have an answer for that, because — well, the F4 remake _was_ pretty much a total train wreck.

 

“Okay,” he finally says, inhaling deeply. “Okay.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He really hopes he’s not being a grade-A creep by showing up at a university campus he doesn’t actually work at or have any legitimate business being on. He sees the main door of the arts building open, and a bunch of people start to stream out, so he stands up straight and rakes a hand through his hair, scrambling for some semblance of control over the pounding in his ribs.

 

It all goes to shot when Clarke emerges. She’s slinging her familiar grey backpack over one shoulder, deep in conversation with another girl as they head down the building steps and out across the small yard.

 

She does a double take when she spots him, and throws him a bright grin before turning back to say something to her classmate and leaving her with a friendly squeeze on her elbow.

 

“Hello, Professor,” she says with a smile as she approaches him, blonde waves fanning out past her shoulders. “This is _not_ your campus at all. Lost?”

 

He clears his throat, and pulls his hands out of his jacket pockets to fold them across his chest. “I need you to kiss me. Right now.”

 

Her smile falters, and her brows furrow together in confusion. “What?”

 

He huffs a breathless laugh, stepping towards her and reaching out to curve both hands round the sides of her face. “ _Now_ , Clarke,” he says lowly before closing the last few inches between them.

 

He makes sure to take his time, angling her head and then his to deepen the kiss. Her hands instantly come up to fist in his shirt, tugging him even closer and keeping him there. Her mouth opens for him with practically no effort at all, and he licks his way into it, a tremor of pleasure coursing through his body at the sound and physical _feeling_ of her moaning into him, against his lips.

 

He watches her face when he pulls away, fingers clenching in her hair when he sees the dazed, blown-out expression she’s wearing, lids hanging low and heavy over her hazy eyes.

 

She clears her throat, her grip tightening in his shirt before she steps back slightly, looking up at him with a still-glazed expression. “Don’t get me wrong,” she says, a tinge of roughness to her voice. “But kissing random strangers on the street is officially the best way to meet new people.”

 

“Yes, it is,” he tells her, his lips curving upward in a smile, his hands smoothing over her hair before burying themselves into the blonde waves again. “Please don’t do it again.”

 

“Nope,” she agrees, before pulling him back down to her by his shirt.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Octavia rolls her eyes heavenward when he tells her the whole story, and spends the first three minutes of meeting Clarke profusely thanking her for _‘sticking through every inch of my brother’s bullshit’_.

 

“Seriously, ‘friend zoned’,” she repeats with a scoff and an impressively derisive arch of her brow. “You’ve been out of high school for _nine years_ , Bell. _Please_ don’t make Clarke realise what a huge dork you are before you’ve locked it down.”

 

“Too late,” Clarke says, unruffled. “Had him pegged from the start.”

 

Bellamy feigns a scowl, one arm sliding around her waist to pull her closer. “Good thing she likes me.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading through more of my bellarke nonsense! extra thanks for leaving kudos if you have, and XXL thanks for a comment because those seriously make my day and i really love hearing what you think.
> 
>  
> 
> additionally/alternatively, you can [come say hi!](http://caramellakers.tumblr.com) or just yell at me to get a WIP done. either one would be highly appreciated.


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